They got their coffee in tiny demitasse cups. Monty ordered a cornetto filled with custard while Hilliard ordered a lobstertail pastry filled with pistachio cream. When Hilliard bit into his pastry, he gave such a delicious-sounding moan that Monty had to wheedle him into giving him a piece.
Once they had eaten, they both flipped open their copies to the interview. And the interview was…certainly something.
“What part did you say was inspiring to people?” Monty asked after he’d skimmed quickly over the contents.
“This bit about platonic relationships.”
Monty frowned when he found it. “‘Though many have speculated about this relationship, the two maintain that it is strictly platonic. Mr. Kincaid is a lucky man indeed to have such a good friend who prepares his favorite breakfast and gives him a safe haven as he focuses on his career. If only the rest of us could be so fortunate.’” He huffed. “Seems to me the only thing I should be inspiring people to do is be more selective in their friendships.”
Hilliard chuckled. “Not a bad thing to inspire, all things considered.”
Monty sipped his coffee and read the article with more care. All in all, the interview accomplished what he’d hoped it would: he was portrayed as a real person, one with close friends, favorite meals, and preferences. There were very few mentions of his charm or appeal. Although he hadn’t expected Hilliard to figure in the piece so much, he had to admit that it was no bad thing. Hilliard brought out the best in him, grounded him. And that showed through in Dupree’s editorializing.
He snuck a glance at the man in question. Hilliard looked relaxed and comfortable. A tiny bit of rogue powdered sugar had snuck onto his shirt just below his ascot, and Monty couldn’t explain why the slight imperfection to the man’s usually impeccable appearance did such things to him. It made him hungry to see Hilliard more mussed.
There had been moments recently that made him hope that Hilliard might feel the same way he did. The expression in the other man’s face when Monty had presented him with the boutonniere had been so full of something. And for a gift as simple as a few daisies, Monty was a little off-kilter by the response. After all, it hadn’t been expensive, nor difficult to obtain. Were such things really all it took to win Hilliard’s heart? Then again, Monty reasoned to himself, he had never bothered to figure out his former lovers’ favorite flowers. Perhaps if he’d made the effort, his relationships wouldn’t have ended as quickly as they had.
But what he had with Hilliard felt so different from all of those past flings. Monty wanted to make the effort. He wanted to learn every little thing that would make the man smile. He wanted to take him to every single restaurant in the Los Angeles area to see what else would make Hilliard so satisfied that he’d moan into his bite and miss the icing sugar on his shirt. In fact, he wanted to make Hilliard moan for very different reasons.
He turned his attention back to the article, trying to focus on it, but there was something about the tone of the interview that Monty didn’t care for.
“Is it just me or does this read as…” He gestured vaguely.
Hilliard looked like he was trying to understand but couldn’t quite predict the end of his sentence.
“Smug,” Monty finally tried.
“Oh, most assuredly.”
“Not me, I mean.”
“I know what you meant, sweetheart. And I agree. Considering how she was when she interviewed you, I can’t say I’m surprised.”
Monty thought back to the day of the interview. He’d been so focused on making a good impression, on squashing the urge to let loose his magic, that he barely registered the interviewer herself much at all. He remembered that she’d asked him a few questions, which Hilliard had answered, and that she’d then directed several of her questions to Hilliard instead. Now that he thought about it, he remembered the clever smile she wore and the subtle glances between the two of them as if she was trying to find something specific.
“She thinks we’re bluffing,” he said at last.
“Yes.”
“But why would we?”
Hilliard shrugged. “It certainly makes for a more entertaining copy.”
Monty scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. If we were in a relationship we—” He broke off at the guarded look in Hilliard’s face. It was a subtle thing, easy to miss if he hadn’t gotten used to studying his friend’s expressions when filming or dining together. At first, he worried that it was a sign that Hilliard really wasn’t interested in him and that he was treading on unwelcome grounds by bringing it up. But then he realized that Hilliard’s expression was more of a shield.
Monty cleared his throat. “If we were in a relationship, we wouldn’t hide it.”
“No, I imagine we wouldn’t.”
They held each other’s gaze for a long, excruciating moment. Then Monty broke the tension with a light laugh. “Well, it’s good to know I wouldn’t be your dirty little secret, Mr. Burke. Now why don’t we order the thing you’ve been eying since we got here?”
“Montgomery,” Hilliard said. “It’s too decadent for the morning.”
“Nonsense,” Monty said, waving down a waitperson. “That’s what brunch is for.” Then he ordered two gelatos.
Monty had been to many a premiere in his relatively short career at Powell Productions. He knew what to expect. There would be plenty of reporters, the click and flash of the cameras. Fans would line the red carpet, notebooks and pens at the ready, eager for autographs. Stars would mingle in front of the theater and in the lobby, graciously agreeing to spontaneous interviews with the reporters.
He’d even gone with a date before. A pretty someone on his arm who would smile at the cameras or at him when the timing was right. Conveniently placed lipstick stains on his collar or slightly mussed hair during the movie. It was as much a part of his role as a movie star as any character he’d ever played. He knew the lines by heart.
